Renaissance
by GoodMorningSunshine55
Summary: A collaboration with the lovely Naturelover422 When a chance to right the wrong and atone for past mistakes doesn't present itself, sometimes the universe intervenes. And for John, Paul, George and Ringo, a just one chance is what's needed to mend bridges and re-conquer the world- for really, in the end, love is all you need. *Afterlife fic, no slash*
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey everyone, Claire here! Well, this is a lovely collaboration with the incomparably fantastic Naturelover422, and we really hope you like it! First collab for either of us, so please be gentle on the reviews... Chapter 1 (this is the prologue) will be up in a couple days and we'll see how it goes from there!**

He was happier than he'd been in a long time. Of course, the past five years with Sean had been wonderful, but it was great in a much different way to finally re-emerge to the public eye. Fame, once something he resented profusely, was something he wanted a new, more mature chance at. For the first time in what seemed like ages, everything in his life finally seemed to be falling into place perfectly, even including that creative spark he'd been missing for quite a long time. It was like he had finally figured out the puzzle of his own life: things were on the up and up. John Lennon was about to make a comeback, and the world had better be ready.

It was with these thoughts that John climbed out of the limousine, tipping the driver generously as Yoko followed suit out the other door. Together, hand in hand, he walked with his wife the short distance to the entrance of their apartment building. He knew that Sean would probably be asleep, watched over by a nanny that he and Yoko had hired to stay with him whenever they had to work. After all, it was almost eleven at night, high time for any little boy to be sleeping. He was inexplicably eager to see the little guy. It felt like it had been forever since he had seen him even though he had only seen him that morning, thirteen hours ago.

His thoughts trailed off abruptly at the surfacing sound of what appeared to be. The musician stopped in his tracks and turned his head slightly in the direction he thought the mysterious sound had originated from. An ear tilted up towards the sky in a pronounced effort to tune in, and he listened intently for anything more out of the ordinary. Yoko looked at him quizzically, and he shook his head and passed it off as his imagination. _'You're tired, John… it's been a long day…'_ he inwardly concluded, nodding along to Yoko's animated chatter.

He started again towards his apartment. Even if he hadn't been imagining things why should he feel the need to get worked up? He lived in New York City for the sake of Christ. People were everywhere, all the time, and fans or others of the sort hanging out near his home, while recently more few and far between, certainly weren't unusual… He shook his head at his initial paranoia. Just so long as the FBI weren't up to their usual mischief- he had a family to take care of, and he would rather appreciate it if they'd just have the decency to let him—

Footsteps… There they were again. He was certain of it. Yoko heard them this time too, and she opened her mouth with a question forming on her lips. John looked around, his nearsighted eyes squinting in the darkness. He could just barely see Yoko in the faint light cast by a streetlamp.

"John Lennon!" someone abruptly called out. The leering, malicious voice was every bit enough to send a resulting chill down the musician's spine. Slowly, cautiously, he started to turn towards the source of the spoken voice…

_Bang_! The gunshot rang out with the implied force of a jet breaking the sound barrier, reverberating around the otherwise quiet neighborhood. Searing pain enveloped his back and insides robbing him completely of his breath… it was like nothing he had ever felt before… _What the_…

_Bang. Bang …Bang. Bang._

John was spun about like a top by the force, his eyes blinded by repetitive flashes of unforgiving, white hot pain that seared through his entire body. His entire world took on an unnatural tilt and he was able to vaguely take in now, a figure of some sort. A male… John could hear Yoko's frantic screaming, a long, unbroken wail of terrible emotions that he would never have wanted his darling wife to feel. He couldn't even see her. All his barely functioning eyes could focus on was something metallic, glinting in the outstretched hands of the man in front of him… A pistol? …A gun… He'd been shot…_Jesus Christ_… He'd been _shot_!

Staggering now, he charged up the steps leading to his front door, fresh waves of excruciating pain continuing to work its way out from his shattered chest cavity. It felt like someone was ripping him apart… like all his internal organs had been put in a blender and turned to puree… The door opened as he approached and he found himself staring into the hazy, undefined face of someone… someone he didn't rightly know. His legs shaking, he reached the doorway. "I've been shot…" he murmured. He had no energy, no energy at all… It was hard to believe that mere seconds ago he was so energetic and vital. Yoko's wails were met with another person's shouting, and the sounds melted together in a strange cacophony of horror.

Unable to hold himself upright anymore, John fell. Down, down, down, he plunged; the drop, to his decreasing mentality, seeming impossibly drawn out. He coughed painfully as he hit the ground, more unbearable twinges of pain spiraling out from within him. he could no longer see… something had happened, the clearness of his glasses was now disrupted, cracked, splotched in bright red. He coughed and coughed, the action sending horrible agony through him, and eventually he retched; expelling from his throat a sickeningly warm, sticky, thick liquid. Resulting panic ensued from somewhere in the distance… How far, he couldn't tell. Frightened cries, eerily distant, like they were coming from across an ocean… Cries sounding like they were stemming from his wife… But how could it be? _Yoko was… Yoko… What was Yoko_…? He was beginning to feel somewhat detached from reality now. Things he could have sworn he once knew, he could no longer pull up from his frenzied mind… Someone was talking to him, but he couldn't hear to respond. His glasses were removed from his face, something light was placed on top of him. the high keening of sirens were heard in the distance. Screaming. Crying. Yelling. Pain. Where was everybody? Where was anything? No longer capable of tuning into the severity of the situation, whatever it may be by this point… This _pain_ thing was terribly distracting… He sucked in his last rigid breath before indeterminate darkness finally claimed him.


	2. Chapter 2

John Lennon awoke quickly, as if from a nightmare, bolting straight up in bed in unclear surprise. It felt as if he had slept for years. After the initial shock wore off and he got his bearings, he looked around and suddenly realized that he truly had no idea where he was.

He was in a bed, that much was certain, and by the low ceiling above him he could definitely tell it was **some kind of** bunk- and he was on the bottom. The thin sheets, and also the loose pajamas he couldn't remember ever putting on, were a pure, snowy white and **extraordinarily soft in texture**. **Like air almost**. Practically no furniture decorated the room, save for a small dresser on the opposite end. There were two doors, and John had no way of knowing where they led. A wide window opened on one side towards something he couldn't quite make out. Despite the sparseness of the room, it had a certain ubiquitous homey feel to it- like many people had called it their happy home, and all it wanted was to accommodate more.

Tossing the sheets carelessly to the side, John got out of the bed and was suddenly accosted by a strange, weightless feeling. Faintly, he could remember the odd sensation. It was one he had felt the few times he had been on a boat, although for the life of him he couldn't think of any reason he would be on a boat at that particular point in time.

The spacious window was slightly fogged up, so John wiped away some of the condensation with the sleeve of his pajamas. True enough, he was on the ocean, although it wasn't any ocean he recognized. The waters were calm, and a crystalline blue color. The only break was a dock- just a normal, wooden dock, stretching out into the ocean. Just as he was about to turn around, John noticed that suddenly, there were people on the dock. And when he saw exactly who the people were, he did a double take.

The first one he noticed was Yoko. It couldn't possibly be anyone but her- nobody else he knew had hair like she did, and besides, he simply had a feeling, in the pit of his gut, that it was her. She was leaning into someone with her head in her hands, shoulders shaking. Surprised, John noticed that the person supporting her was none other than Paul, _the_ Paul McCartney he had played in the band with so long ago, who stood as straight as he could with Yoko's weight on his shoulder and looked off into the distance, a wistful, rueful look on his face. Even George and Ringo were there, Ringo with his shoulders hunched in, staring at the wood of the dock, George calmly patting his friend's back, his own eyes closed and his shoulders slack. His sons, too- Julian, looking sullen, and Sean, looking confused, were on the dock in the slew of people.

Never before had John seen all of them together, and it made him smile to witness what seemed like their differences being settled. However, they looked sad, for some inexplicable reason. He cheerfully waved to them, in a hope to bring them happiness, but they didn't appear to see them. For a split second, it looked like Sean could see him, but just as quickly as the feeling came it was gone again.

A mist enveloped them and John walked away from the window. What a strange dream it was. Of course, odd dreams were nothing unusual to him, but this was stranger than most.

"Hello," said a voice from somewhere behind him. The shock at hearing such an abrupt noise startled John, who jumped slightly before settling down. He pressed a hand against his chest instinctively, expecting to hear an elevated beat, but felt nothing. Odd indeed.

He turned to see another man, who appeared to be about thirty years of age, standing in pajamas that exactly matched his, in front of the double bed. Obviously, he had been on the top, but strangely enough John hadn't heard him come down, or even thought to check the top bunk for someone else. The thought had evidently slipped his mind. The man had dark skin that made him appear to be of African heritage, matched with black curly hair buzzed close to his head. He had an easy, friendly smile on his face. "Ah… hi…" John said slowly.

The new man nodded his head. "My name's Lawrence Jenkins," he said, offering a handshake. "Most call me Larry. And I definitely know who you are."

John couldn't even speak. Larry was so straightforward that he was taken aback by it. He was so friendly, it was flabbergasting. Paul had been that way, John mused. Perhaps that was why all the girls liked him. Certainly, Larry seemed like the type who would have an admirer on either arm.

"Mister John Lennon or the Beatle fame," Larry continued. "Didn't expect to see you here! My grandkids would be ecstatic if they were here, boy, you were their idol! I sure did see you a lot back in the sixties. I remember with them all in front of the television, watching that first telecast on Ed Sullivan. They were only five or so at the time, bless their souls, but you and the rest of that band of yours stole their hearts, what with your fancy guitars and songs! Thought you were hoodlums at the time, I did, but I must admit what you did with the equal rights movement was mighty spectacular. Great at what you did, all of you." John felt himself grinning at the compliment. Larry, meanwhile, gravitated toward the large window, and much like John did leaned against it and smiled, waving. John peered over his shoulder, but couldn't see anything except for mist and the endless expanse of water.

Something about Larry's speech certainly couldn't be correct. Once the man was done with his moment at the window, John voiced his thoughts. "Ah, Larry?" he asked slowly.

"Mm hmm?" was the response.

"You don't quite seem old enough to have grandkids. Actually, you barely seem old enough to have kids." The prospect that a man so young could have had grandchildren- and no less, grandchildren in 1964- was simply impossible.

"Really?" Larry looked amused. "How old do I look?" He looked eager to hear the answer.

John looked at Larry for a moment before saying, "Twenty-nine. Thirty, maybe."

Larry laughed loudly, and for a very long time at that. "Thirty years! My, my, Mr. Lennon-" he was interrupted again by laughter. "Oh, but I should have suspected." He wiped a tear of mirth from his eye and leaned against the dresser drawer. "I was born fourteenth of January, 1892!"

"But-" sputtered John. "1892! You look younger than I am!"

"Looked in a mirror lately?" smirked Larry. John scowled at the cryptic way he was speaking, and opened the nearest door, which thankfully was to a bathroom. He located the mirror, and was completely surprised at what he saw.

His couldn't be more than twenty-two. Except for the fact that his hair was curlier and his circular glasses were perched on his nose (when did those get there?), he was the exact copy of himself from 1963. His mouth agape, he turned to Larry and looked at him. "What are ye, some sort of seer?" he asked, semi-angrily. Larry was acting omnipotent almost.

"Seer? Lord no. Just an accountant."

"Am I on acid again?" John muttered to himself. "Weird dream, weird dream…"

"Dream?" asked Larry. "I can see where you might think that. I certainly don't think you expected to be here! Much too young, you are… A right shame. I wouldn't expect you to remember quite yet, it seems you're still adjusting. Whenever you want to tell me what happened, feel free. People tell me I'm quite the confidante. Course, I knew this day was coming for me at least…" he began to look distant, although not unhappy. "Much different here than the preacher man said. Have to wonder what it'll be like when we dock… that is, providing we do." John ignored the odd words coming from his roommate. People had said much stranger things to him in dreams before. Larry, as if he had said nothing out of the ordinary, moved to the dresser and fished out a bundle or cloth, which he tossed to John. The musician was surprised that the bundle, which was most definitely of clothing, had a note on it with a name attached. _John Winston Ono Lennon. _Yep, that was definitely him.

He ducked into the bathroom and changed from his white pajamas quickly. The clothes were a pair of black slacks, a green dress shirt, and even a pair of shoes and socks. He had never liked to wear a suit, but the clothes were strangely soft and comfortable, like the insides were softer, looser, and cooler than the outsides.

He opened the door to find Larry in similar clothes, albeit ones that looked to be from the twenties or so. John was about to say something before the other man beat him to the punch.

"Well, come on then," said Larry, opening the door and heading out into a hallway. John followed him, taking in the scenery as he went. It was a very old looking boat- like he was walking in some historical artifact or something.

"Where are we going?" asked John, running a hand over some textured wallpaper.

"Exploring," replied Larry easily. John grinned. He was certainly up for an adventure.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Update time! First draft by Naturelover422, revisions by yours truly. Apologies on the update delay- life has been crazy. Please enjoy, R&R, and yet again, enjoy!**

After John and Larry emerged on deck, the first thing John noticed was the air. It was a soft breeze, caressing his face and playfully and gently whipping his hair around his face. It was much like what John remembered the air always feeling like at sea- John loved the water, and any chance to be on a boat he took, although he had never been on a cruise ship the likes of the one he was currently on. However, it was still yet different, in an inexplicable and peculiar way. The air was like nothing he had never before in his life experienced. The soft and light wind was fresh, and rejuvenating, but unearthly at the same time, like nothing that could ever be manufactured except in one's imagination. The fact didn't surprise John much, though. Unnatural occurrences were to be expected in dreams. The oddest thing, however, was the minimal amount of resistance that was felt upon his skin as it enveloped him. It seemed to filter into him as though he lacked solidity. It pierced him. Ran right through him like a ghostly entity of sorts; threatening to take him away all the while, as if he was a mere feather, completely and inevitably at its mercy. It filled him up from the inside out, helping him to feel even lighter than he initially had while he'd been confined to the ship's cabin. It was the most unusual of feelings, and John wasn't quite sure whether or not he liked it.

"Might help to walk around a bit," Larry advised as he saw John stumble clumsily over nothing in particular. "You never really get used to something until you acclimate yourself to it." He himself was walking along the railing of the ship, looking off into the distance as if he could see something there. It was baffling indeed the amount of attention he paid to the openness in front of the ship's helm. John himself could see nothing. There was a thick gray fog all about the ship that blocked him from even being able to see the water below, a strange departure from the clear view of his family he had seen in his small cabin room.

"Why's it so different from inside the cabin?" John asked; staring down at his feet as he awkwardly continued his struggle to get them to ensure a form of balance that seemed oddly evasive. He felt much too light out here as if he'd float away into oblivion with every step he took, and as such he remained standing still, trying his best to remain standing and look nonchalant at the same time. He looked down at his feet just to make sure they were actually there and was surprised to see that they weren't really- they were only half there, it seemed, and not quite opaque. He held his hands out in front of him and gasped slightly when he saw that he could see right through his own fingers. What the hell was going on?

Larry shrugged, "It just is, I suppose. There are some things they just don't tell you. It just is." Like most of the things he said, the response posed more questions than it answered. Larry suddenly turned his attention away from John and to something else, again not quite obvious.

John felt an increasing obligation to grab a hold of something to help him balance. Lifting his eyes in search of anything handy, he took in his surroundings for the first time. It was then when he realized the state of very deck they stood upon. There was nothing anywhere. No chairs, no tables, no people, nothing. except for the white paint on the ground, the deck was completely barren. Perhaps it was a good thing they were only on a dream cruise ship instead of a real one. The outdoor décor or lack thereof didn't seem all that inviting.

"I bet it looks rather empty, eh?" said Larry from somewhere behind John. "Did for me at first too… Don't worry though, we're not really alone."

John continued to glance about him for any source of what Larry was implying. "I don't see anything," he revealed in utter confusion, "Or anyone." He revealed the information hesitantly, worrying that he would sound stupid for saying such a thing. It was either him or Larry that was insane. Problem was, he didn't know which of them to suspect.

"I wouldn't expect you to, really," Larry said with a small chuckle. "I certainly didn't when I first got on! Boy howdy, was I confused! Not nearly as confused as you, though, my boy," his laugh subsided and he looked at John with a hint of forlornness. "I doubt you were expecting this like I was… I'm an old man, I've lived my life. But you… too young, much too young…" Larry shook his head and looked out into sea thoughtfully, leaving John once again more confused that in the first place.

John opened his mouth but quickly shut it, realizing that as rare as it was, he wasn't quite sure how to respond. The quips he would normally be able to dole out effortlessly just weren't coming, it seemed. The whole experience was much too surreal. He was quite possibly having one of his weirdest dreams yet. The events occurring were about as absurd as anything else he had ever imagined, even when the world around him was bending into psychedelic shapes brought on by the dizzying effects of LSD. All this needed was a flying unicorn on stilts and this'll be complete, mused John inwardly, as he stared at Larry's face as if hoping for some sign of what was going on in the young man's head (for, no matter how old Larry said he was, John was forty and Larry didn't appear to be over thirty, making it hard for John to believe his companions claims).

Larry chuckled lightheartedly, if a tad ruefully, at John's baffled expression. "Soon enough, you'll see for yourself." He shifted his gaze beyond John right then and waved, a momentary flicker of recognition springing into his friendly eyes.

"What?" John questioned urgently, turning around in circles to look behind him in order to follow his companion's gaze, "Who are y'waving to? What the bloody hell is going on?" As far as his eyes could see, there wasn't a single recipient of seemingly wasted polite gesture to be found. Only more empty deck. How utterly, terribly confusing…

"Hello, Darla," Larry called out, smiling now, "Beautiful weather we're having!"

_Weather_? John found his gaze lifting to the sky. Not only could he see nothing of this 'Darla' Larry seemed to be freely conversing with, but the thick fog that blanketed the ship hadn't lightened up in the least bit. Whatever 'weather' Larry seemed to be perceiving had to be something entirely different. As far as John's eyesight went, 'beautiful' hardly seemed to be the word for it. Had Larry gone mad? Cracked up? Or had he? The question surfaced once again in his addled mind. The events unfolding around him were growing more and more odd and unsettling. John hated not knowing what was going on, and wished more than anything to wake up… wake up from whatever kind of dream he was having.

John returned his gaze to Larry's face with a pronounced air of frustration. "Who is this Darla and why the hell can't I see her?" he demanded, his old anger starting to shine through again. He was beginning to get quite annoyed with the way things were unraveling thus far.

Larry subtly turned his attention back on him, unfazed by John's reaction. "I wouldn't expect you to be able to see her, John," he stated obscurely, in place of providing a direct answer to his inquiries.

"What do you mean?" John asked, "I know I'm bloody blind as a bat but I was never so bad off that I couldn't see things right in front of me own face…" He felt his face with an air of uncertainty as he spoke. He _was_ still wearing his glasses, wasn't he? Yes, he was- the trademark round granny glasses that had perched on the bridge of his thin nose for so many years. He could feel the familiar wire rim with his guitar-roughened finger pad.

Larry calmly watched his companion's ongoing floundering moves with a slightly amused smile, "Earthly sight has nothing to do with it, as you'll soon find out," he simply affirmed.

John's searching fingers finally sought out the smooth feel of the frames encircling his eyes. "What are you on about anyhow?" he barked rather brusquely, allowing his hands to drop in a defeated manner away from his face.

"Calm down, lad," Larry said. "In time. Once you're through with it you'll see."

John narrowed his eyes in confusion. This man might as well have been speaking in riddle, "Through with what?" he asked, bemusement seeping into his tone to replace frustration.

"The final transformation, of course," Larry took a step back as though for the sole purpose of observation John's every flaw, "Where you always this inquisitive on earth?" he bluntly asked.

Just as John was about to open his mouth in a response of pronounced indignation, Larry dismissed the rhetorical question with a wave of the hand and a chuckle, "No matter. You'll understand all in good time." He started to walk away, his feet appearing to glide upon the wooden deck of the ship.

"But I—" John began.

"You'd best follow me, boy, lest you get left behind." Larry interrupted, not unkindly, "You've just one step to take."

"But what's this transformation?" John asked, daring to take a step in Larry's direction at his beckoning.

"You'll see."

Larry paused outside a door that seemed to manifest out of nowhere. "Well, here you go," he stated much too indifferently.

"I'm not doing anything until someone tells me what the bloody hell is going on around here!" John countered thus, petulance pervading his tone. He was fed up with Larry's dim half-responses. And even though John Lennon fancied himself an open-minded person, he was certainly not the kind who could go along with some mysterious, foreign plan without first knowing what he was getting himself into."

"Trust me, John. It'll all make sense later."

"Why me?"

"What do you mean, why you? Everyone kicks the bucket eventually, son. Granted your time is sooner than most, but we all have to do it, so you might as well now." The seriousness of his voice evaporated just then, and he grinned again. "Well, what are you waiting for then?"

Kicked the bucket? But that would mean… no, it couldn't possibly be. Forty year olds don't just up and die out of nowhere. And besides, he was just barely forty! It hadn't even been two months since John's birthday, coincidentally Sean's too… as he turned forty, his son turned five. Last John could remember, he had been in the limo with Yoko, talking about nothing in particular… they had gotten out and walked to the door of the building…and he couldn't quite recall what happened after that. His mind was oddly fuzzy. What could have happened between the limo and the door that could've killed him? It couldn't have been a car, like had killed his mother. Nobody drove on sidewalks, at least not to his knowledge. Perhaps things were different in America.

But what was John engaging in hypotheticals for? After all, it is only a dream… a supremely screwy dream, but a dream nonetheless. _Or is it?_ A voice in his mind's eye reminded him. He quickly pushed the thought away and decided to go along with Larry's plan.

"Fine," he sighed, reluctantly admitting defeat. "What do I do?"

Larry shook his head in a tut-tut manner. "Haven't you ever opened a door before, boy?" he asked, "I can't do everything for you, you know."

John couldn't keep the frown from beginning to claim his face, and he bit back a sharp comment from his silver tongue with considerable difficulty. "But what's behind it?"

Larry shook his head again, "That's for you to discover on your own. I can't assure much else other than the fact that it won't _kill_ you." He chuckled again lightheartedly at his own joke.

"Right because I'm already…" John rolled his eyes, finding no need to finish the obvious statement.

"That's right," Larry responded, smiling brightly despite the morbid subject matter. "Now go on, boy. See what it is that awaits you. It's different for everyone, depending on the type of life you led. Might bring happiness, might bring sorrow, it's all in the cards, boy… Good luck."

Cautiously, John settled a hand on the doorknob and gave it a twist.

It began instantly, as soon as he stepped into the room. The boat simply ceased to exist, Larry became unreality. One by one, distant memories almost forgotten, wrapped themselves around him like a coiled rope. He saw it all; his life as he'd lived it on earth. They flashed rapidly through the back of his mind holding him captive in a way similar to an oversized movie screen; one that seemed to enclose him like a bubble, taking up every square inch of space that surrounded him. It was as if he was simply reliving everything, living a life in the blink of an eye. Reliving a lifetime's worth of memories.

He saw his mother, beautiful Julia as she'd been throughout life, loving, charismatic and gentle before distance forced itself between them like a wedge. He saw his father, who he'd never gotten to know. A man who had disappeared when he was a child only to reappear in his life somewhere in his twenties with his impossibly young wife, looking for a bond that could never really be mended. He saw his younger half-sisters as he'd remembered them. Julia and then Jacqui, each one of them joyful little girls, with no idea of the tragedies that would shape their lives. He saw memories of how they'd interact as young ones. He saw his younger self giving Jacqui a reluctant piggyback ride. He'd climb trees with Julia whenever granted the chance to see her and together they'd get into quite the bit of mischief to Mimi's dismay… And then when they grew older he would smack around the boys who gave her trouble. Truly, he never visited as often as he'd liked. Rarely spent time with even his younger sister Jacqui. He saw another girl- Her name was Ingrid, and she was his sister… a sister whose existence he hadn't realized until now. John saw her now too, somehow instantly knowing it was her despite the fact that he'd never been granted the chance to see her before. She didn't carry the Stanley genes as all his siblings had. She was blonde, blonde and Norwegian raised, so successful at her life…He saw his aunt Mimi, the domineering mother figure who had taken it upon herself to provide care to his unruly self. He saw his uncle George as he'd been, loyally at Mimi's side.

And then he saw his lifetime's best mates as they presented themselves next. Stu, who he would act out with in art school, Stu with the beautiful paintings who had left the world all too soon. He saw Paul, his best friend, a wiring partner yes, but so much more… Paul, who understood him more than he did himself. And George, wonderful George, the little brother he'd never had, that he had watched grow from an awkward teen to the content man he was now… and Ringo, Ritchie to some, the ray of sunshine in everyone's life. All of them had helped him to keep his head above water at some point or another. All of them had helped him to realize the potential of life itself. They had kept him sane… usually. Oh, but how he'd loved them… They'd been his brothers, his real family, each and every single one of them…

He saw Cynthia Powell, his first real romance, a time full of botched dates and fumbled kisses, hesitant and trying, a romance of the young. Imperfect in every way possible, but they had been so happy... They might have fallen out eventually, the toll of their lives slowly prying him apart, but doubtless their love had once been so real and palpable, almost tangible even. And then his son, wonderful Julian, his firstborn who would always hold a special place inside his heart. Julian. He loved him. Loved him despite popular belief. Perhaps they could've had a better relationship had the circumstances been different, but life just hadn't been fair. It hadn't been fair to Julian and it hadn't been fair to him.

He saw Brian Epstein; the man that had been solely responsible for his initial rise to fame; his mentor. There was nobody he really had ever looked up to quite as much as Brian, to whom he owed almost everything he had.

He saw Yoko, his life partner, who'd not only encouraged him musically but helped him to his feet when he'd been so broken; shattered by a thing called life. She'd helped him to regain lost confidence. She'd embedded herself within him. They were two puzzle pieces, perfect fits whose lives had intertwined through the most wonderful of serendipities- or perhaps it had been by design that they had met. Truly, he wouldn't have lived as happy a life as he did without her. He saw Sean, his second born son. How happy he'd been when he was born. How proud, to see his son come into the world, to see him grow. John would fantasize about the day Sean would go to first grade, to college, his first job whatever it may be. He could see through Sean the woman his son would one day marry, the beautiful children that would be the light of his autumn years. And still he would wish that his little boy would stay little forever. He was at the peak of his life, everything had fallen into place after so many tumultuous years. Life had been perfect.

And nostalgia was imminent.


	4. Chapter 4

When John at last emerged from the strange room of memories, he was completely disoriented, like he had been spun around or put in a blender- listing on his feet in a comical manner as he stepped out and shut the door absentmindedly behind him, leaning against the wooden boat siding and blinking against the bright light. The strange experience of being inside the room had been quite taxing mentally and emotionally, something he wasn't too keen to admit but was true nonetheless. Seeing his whole life all over again, from the most tragic of happenings he couldn't help in the least, to the sordid mistakes that had been entirely his fault, hadn't been fun at all. It was quite literally his life flashing before his eyes, but much more drawn out, like experiencing every single mundane day in all it's glory; and now, it felt like the entire ship was spinning unrelentingly. Or maybe it was him that was spinning… or perhaps he was simply going mad.

"A bit of a trip, huh?" Larry commented bemusedly from next to John, who jumped in surprise at hearing the man's voice. He had nearly forgotten that the jolly accountant even existed. "It's normal, though, from what I hear. Really takes a toll, the Reliving does… did for me, too, so you're not alone. You know, everyone else has told me that-"

"What do you _mean_, everyone else?" snapped John exasperatedly, opening his eyes and blinking blearily against the sunlight. He pressed a hand against his forehead. Since when had it gotten so bright out? Just moments ago it had been stormy and grey. But was it moments, or had he been there for hours? Days, months? Or did time even have meaning in a dream?

"You should be able to see them now that you're out, if you'd just take the time to look at your surroundings for once. You have after all passed initiation, so to speak… Oh, hello Jerome! Haven't seen you in a bit!" apparently Larry had gotten sidetracked at the end with, as John saw it, yet another imaginary person. He was about to open his mouth to question Larry's sanity when to his complete shock he heard another voice.

"Yeah, it's been a few days. Haven't seen you since we stopped in Mexico, I think, or maybe Argentina even… who's your friend?" John looked up in shock and saw who appeared to be Jerome- a Hebrew man with a slight Middle East accent, looking to be somewhere in his twenties, dressed for all the world like some sort of farmer from a depression-era movie.

"I'm… ah, I'm John." Jerome shook his hand heartily and John was quite surprised to notice that he was quite solid, real as could be. A part of him had thought that he would've been transparent, like a ghost; but he tried not to let his bafflement show.

"You know who you look like?" commented Jerome, snapping his fingers and pointing at John. "That sixties fellow in that pop band, who married that weird Japanese lady! You know, the one who made all the strange music and whatnot. Grated at my ears, it did!"

John bit his lip at the description of Yoko and shortly replied with "I _am_ that sixties fellow." He arched his eyebrows at Jerome, who immediately laughed nervously and pulled at his collar, perhaps regretting the way he had talked about the avant-garde artist and unamused guitarist.

"What? Oh… well sorry about that, ah… My, you're young aren't you?" Jerome scratched his head nervously and John couldn't help but smirk at how quickly he changed the subject away from his opinions of Yoko. Well, he was used to it. People gave Yoko flack all the time, and as much as he would defend her in real life what was the point of doing so in his subconscious?

"I'm forty," John sighed. "I'm not young." Truth be told, he felt quite the opposite.

"Well, you're young for here," replied Larry, injecting himself into the conversation once again. "I thought we went over this already, John," he said bemusedly.

"Well, I'll be darned, what happened to you anyhow? Must've been some sort of accident or something. Was it a car? I had an uncle go that way, fast and painless, but still, just so sudden! No time for preparations or-" Apparently Jerome was, like Larry, completely convinced they were all in some sort of world of the dead. And, also like Larry, prone to talking unceasingly until someone stopped him.

Larry was quick to do just that. "Shut it, Jerome! He doesn't know yet!"

"Know what?" John practically yelled. "What the bloody hell is going on here! I keep asking you knuckleheads what's going on and nobody ever tells me a bleeding thing! And unless you're going to toss out some sort of afterlife rubbish again, I'd like an explanation, please!" He looked at the two startled men standing before him like deer in headlights imploringly.

"Well, you… are… dead," Larry said slowly, with a slightly nervous overtone.

"I told you I don't want any of that crap!"

Jerome politely excused himself with a small hiccup and a mumbled excuse, leaving Larry to continue with the explanation. "Would I lie to you, John?"

"Fine," John said, playing along sarcastically. "Say I am dead, bereft of life, crossed over, lain to peace, robbed of vitality and whatever. The how did I die? I'm forty years old, I'm healthy, I don't have any diseases or whatever. If I'm dead, then how did it happen?"

"Well," Larry said. "I don't know, really."

"Ha, so then-"

"But the Observation Decks can tell you."

**A/N: Well, how was it? Leave reviews (please?), PM me and Naturelover422 (resident cowriter and official awesomest person ever), whatever! Sorry the update was so long in the coming, I promise it won't happen again! This chapter written by moi, edited by Naturelover422, next one to switch roles.**

**:-)**


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